


lazing on a sunday

by Granspn



Series: queen in 3d [9]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: A little bit domestic, also brian and roger have a bit of a fight but dont worry they make up, the boys having a bit of a quiet morning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 16:54:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17666444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Granspn/pseuds/Granspn
Summary: Spending some time with the boys on a rare quiet morning on tour, and considering Roger and Freddie’s proclivity for bringing guests back, Deaky’s proclivity for staying loyal to his wife, and Brian’s proclivity for staring dolefully at the ceiling looking like he might be about to cry





	lazing on a sunday

Touring. In the early days, or the early enough days, the days before private limousines and the better parts of years to record albums, touring meant modest hotel suites where they were lucky to have a miniature kitchen for brewing one cup of tea at a time in the morning. It meant Roger and John in one room and Brian and Freddie in another, which was an interesting arrangement, considering Roger and Freddie’s proclivity for bringing guests back, Deaky’s proclivity for staying loyal to his wife, and Brian’s proclivity for staring dolefully at the ceiling looking like he might be about to cry, but nonetheless, that was how the rooms always seemed to work out. 

One day, in one city, in one of the seemingly endless identical American cities with a downtown bristling with interminable skyscrapers and then nothing, nothing for miles and miles until the next nameless city, Brian awoke in an approximation of a living room. Meaning he woke up on a couch instead of a bed. Although sunlight was streaming in through the nearly floor to ceiling window, he still found himself shivering, then quickly found the explanation to be that he was only in his pants and a thin t-shirt bearing the logo of the American National Air and Space Association. He scanned the room and eyed a nearby pair of velvet flares long and thin enough to be his, vaguely remembering tossing them aside last night as he opted to sleep on the sofa for whatever reason. As he pulled them back on, a voice startled him from behind.

“Morning, sunshine,” Deaky said from the small breakfast table. He already had the morning paper and a cup of tea (splash of milk, pinch of sugar) splayed in front of him, the newest edition of the NME sitting on the seat opposite him, waiting eagerly for whenever Roger appeared. 

“All right, John,” Brian managed to say, still not fully awake. He briefly glanced up, thinking of his hair, then deciding it wasn’t worth it to worry since all the guys had definitely seen him at his worst and this likely wasn’t about to top it. He made his way to the cramped kitchen counter and indicated the electric kettle.

“Any left?”

“Only makes one cup.”

“Oh, right,” Brian said, then delicately removed the still hot lid and filled it with tap water. “Tea bags?”

John picked up a little dish from the table and held it over to Brian, “Might not be anything good left. I think I got the last English Breakfast.”

“Rog’s gonna throw a fit,” Brian said, settling on one that declared itself a Japanese green tea. 

“If he ever wakes up.” 

“Yes, I’d say it’s definitely contingent on that,” Brian said, leaning against the counter and started to read Deaky’s paper over his shoulder.

“Can I help you?” 

“Let me get the science section at least.”

Wordlessly, John found it in between Arts and Sports and handed it over just as the kettle began to boil. Brian made up his tea (no sugar, bag in) and joined Deaky at the table in the seat meant for Roger. There they read their papers and drank their tea and contemplated making breakfast from the meager ingredients stashed in the mini fridge but were saved from having to make any decisions when their attention was drawn by the sound of high heels clacking on the wooden hallway floor. 

Looking up, they saw a tall brunette with slightly smudged makeup and bags under her eyes leaving one of the bedrooms as Roger traipsed after her wearing only an open robe and some boxer shorts. 

“And you’re sure you have my number?” She asked him as he led her to the front door.

“Positive,” he said with a flirty smile as he waved her goodbye. Closing the door behind her, his smile immediately faded and he pulled a pair of glasses out of his bathrobe pocket. Donning them, he said, “Christ! It’s bloody freezing in here.” Making his way to the sitting room, he shrugged off his robe and instead pulled on a purple striped jumper he found lying on the carpet that Brian had apparently discarded there last night. 

“Suits you,” Deaky said.

“Morning lads!” Roger greeted them. 

“Mornin’, Rog,” Brian said quietly over his newspaper, “Magazine’s here for you.”

“Brilliant. Can’t wait to see what utter bullshit they’ve managed to get past their hack editors this week,” Roger said, practically rubbing his hands together in delight, “Any tea for me?”

“Only makes one cup,” Brian said, gesturing to the kettle. Deaky held up the tea selection for Roger only to find him making a face of absolute disgust.

“What the hell do they call this? What self-respecting hotel guest drinks exclusively chamomile and lemon zinger tea?”

“You do,” John said at the same time as Brian answered him, “We’ve already been through all the regular stuff.” 

“Ugh, fine,” Roger capitulated, settling on something spiced with cinnamon that still promised caffeination. As there were no seats left at the breakfast table, he hoisted himself up on the kitchen counter in between the kettle and the toaster, thumping his head in the process.

“Jesus, please be careful,” Brian couldn’t stop himself from saying.

“Just toss me the magazine, would you?” Roger said, holding out his hands. He leafed through it making various scoffs ranging from incredulous to disapproving to downright amused until the kettle boiled and he made himself his tea (milk: lots, sugar: just under one and a half) at which point he returned to his color commentary of the NME apparently bolstered by his boosted energy. 

After a few more minuted there was a startled yelp and a loud crash from one of the bedrooms. Then, Freddie’s familiar voice rang out.

“Oh, _sorry!_ I didn’t realize you were still here!” He scurried out of the bedroom, gently closing the door behind him before sort of decathlon walking down the hall to the kitchen. 

“Doing all right, Freddie?” John asked with a cocked eyebrow. 

Freddie pointed at his room through his other hand, “I thought he’d gone so I started getting ready! I dumped my bag full of all my shit on the bed and he was under the duvet! Could’ve killed him!” 

“Yeah, don’t think that’s very likely, Fred,” Brian said, standing up from his seat. “Tea?” 

“Have we got any coffee?” 

“Only instant,” John answered, indicating the cupboard. Roger reached behind him and pulled out a packet while Brian filled the kettle, eventually getting Freddie his morning pick me up (black as my _soul_ , darling) the way he knew he liked it. Freddie took the mug from Brian and plopped himself down in the seat he’d just vacated. He blew over the top of it as he gazed pensively out of the giant window, the ordered chaos of the band’s morning routine returning once again to companionable silence. In the back of his mind he could hear the shower running in his bedroom, whoever he’d brought home last night apparently helping himself to their amenities before showing himself out. As he stared absently at the city below them, he began to wonder. 

“Where the _hell_ are we?” Freddie asked, gesturing with the wrong hand and sloshing coffee over the table.

“Memphis.”

“Chicago.”

“Atlanta.” Came the replies from his bandmates, who then all met each others’ eyes in confusion.

“We were in Chicago _weeks_ ago, Roger,” Brian said.

“Atlanta? Where the hell are you getting Atlanta?” Deaky asked.

“Well that’s where we are, isn’t it?” Brian asked back.

“Surely we’re in Memphis. Weren’t we just at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?” Deaky said. 

“Which is in Cleveland,” Roger said, tossing his magazine aside and hopping down from the counter to grab a section out of John’s paper while he was preoccupied.

“So Cleveland, then? It’s decided?” Freddie said, looking up expectantly from the others. Brian just shrugged but John nodded and Roger vaguely murmured his assent, now lost in some American news article. 

“This Reagan bloke is an absolute nightmare! It’s a fucking godsend he didn’t win their election last year, I’m telling you,” Roger said but went largely ignored as he often was when he talked politics, just like Freddie about the ballet and Brian about Saturn’s rings. 

“It’s a real crime they don’t let you vote here,” Deaky said, winning him a snorted laugh from Brian.

“Really and truly,” Roger answered, his eyes still glued to the paper. 

Freddie hadn’t noticed the shower shut off but it must’ve because a gruff looking man with shaggy, now dripping wet, brown hair and a dark mustache walked out of his bedroom wearing clothes Freddie probably should have recognized from last night. He looked startled upon seeing three more men than he expected to scattered around the kitchen in various states of disarray and undress. 

“Morning,” Roger said after a quick glance at him.

“Can we get you anything? A coffee or something?” Brian asked.

“Cheese on toast?” Deaky offered. 

“Ignore them,” Freddie said with a fond smile, “I hope you’ve recovered from my earlier indiscretion.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah, no worries. Hope you had a good night.”

“I always do,” Freddie said, getting up to show him to the door.

“I guess I was just, um, leaving.” 

“Have a safe trip home!” Roger called as he was crossing the threshold out. Freddie locked the door behind him and rolled his eyes.

“Thought he’d never leave.”

“You two are always so quick to get rid of your, I don’t know, lovely new friends,” Brian observed from where he was leaning against the counter. 

“I don’t like to live in the past,” Freddie said. 

“Sure, and you keep yours around for months on end and fight with your wife about it. We all have our coping mechanisms,” Roger said without looking up. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” John mumbled. It was really quite early in the morning for Roger and Brian to be getting into it. And after they’d all been having such a lovely time enjoying each others’ company, albeit not speaking much in the process. Besides, he supposed, they both had a bit of a point, didn’t they? Roger was married, too, but didn’t seem to spare a second thought of it when they were away. Meanwhile Brian fell in love with every woman in a five block radius of him and couldn’t rest until she loved him back. So basically, he couldn’t rest. 

“At least I try to be an honest man, Rog,” Brian said, “It’s not my fault it takes you upwards of a decade to form an emotional connection with anyone. In fact, I consider myself lucky you think of me as a friend at all, as I’ve only known you what, eight years?” 

“Won’t be considering you a fucking friend much longer, mate,” Roger said, chucking his newspaper away and sizing Brian up from across the kitchen, looking rather ridiculous still wearing his purple jumper. 

“I’m going to make some breakfast,” Freddie interjected.

“Oh, please, Fred,” Brian said. 

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” John said, getting up from his seat and rummaging around in the fridge, slightly thankful for an excuse to distract himself from the drama. Or the action, depending how you wanted to look at it. 

“Just face it, Rog,” Brian said, trying to sound casual despite a slight tremor in his voice, “You’ve got holes in your life that you fill with meaningless sex. Maybe you should figure out what really goes in those holes.” 

“Ignoring your blatant lack of respect for the art of the innuendo, _Bri_ , maybe you should consider how you spend your time compensating for what you’re missing. Oh, you can’t get a girl for a night but you can make a guitar scream, can’t you? Getting up there and having a fucking wank on stage every night.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s a metaphor, Brian!”

“Who wants toast!” Deaky borderline yelped.

“Would you fuck off, John?” Brian said, fixing him with that inscrutable expression that he wore in nearly all photographs that made you wonder what he was looking at that disgusted him so. 

“No. Do you want a fucking slice of toast or not?” 

“No. No, I don’t want a fucking slice of toast.”

“I’ll have one, Deak. If you’re offering,” Roger said, turning around to face him.

“Coming right up,” John said, becoming exasperated. 

“Sorry, what was I saying?” Roger turned back to Brian and asked in a tone so convivial it would have been impossible to guess that mere seconds ago they’d been at each others’ throats.

“Believe you were calling me a wanker.”

“Oh yes. Well, you are one,” Roger said, waving him off.

“Yes, you too,” Brian said, his shoulders seeming to deflate as he sighed. 

“Glad we got that covered!” Freddie said, getting up to stand between them. “Now, I believe there’s still time for a little sight-seeing before call. Who’s for a trip to the zoo?” He was met with the groans he knew to expect. 

“Absolutely not, Fred,” Brian said.

“Ugh! Over my dead body,” Roger said.

“Well, I think it sounds like a great idea,” John said, punctuating his statement with a crunch on his toast. 

“Excellent. Everyone be ready in an hour. Sound good? Sounds good,” Freddie interrogated himself, then left to get dressed, leaving his coffee half finished and his slice of toast unclaimed in Deaky’s other hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> so I looked it up and apparently the rock and roll hall of fame wasn’t even established until 1983 but it features so inconsequentially that I just left it
> 
> anyway lmk what you think! i just felt like writing a cute quiet morning and just seeing where it took me which is, uh, kind of how i do everything
> 
> thanks for all the kudos and comments on the other parts!! reading your feedback always makes my day!


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